Never Too Old for Pranks
by frosty wonder ice
Summary: The war humbled him, certainly, and they are adults now, sure, but a joke on Potter still makes Draco's day. Epilogue Compliant.


**Standard Disclaimer Applies**

I put an M rating on this due to the inappropriateness of a certain letter.

I was actually going to make this a part of another story, but ehhh. I didn't really feel like writing out the whole story, so this will just be short fun for now. I may come back with a revenge chapter for Harry.

Enjoy!

-o-o-o-o-

What sounded like a family of elephants came thundering down the hall to where Draco lay reading in his study—well, delicately snoozing on the lounge with a transfiguration periodical over his face, but the initial intent had been of the scholarly nature and thus still counted. He sighed as the thundering entered the study and came to a rumbling stop on the other side of the lounge, the thump of several hands on the back arch making the furniture shake down to its wooden legs. Drowsily, Draco slowly tugged the newsletter away from his eyes. Four grinning faces stared down at him and four voices started talking simultaneously as soon as they knew they had his attention.

"England's playing Spain tonight—"

"—a scrimmage match—"

"We can't miss it!"

"—and Duncan's suppose to'uhv gotten new tricks, yeah, so—"

"Oh shut up, all of you!" Draco snapped with an exasperated sigh, fully pulling away the periodical and tossing it on the nearby side table as he sat up. Despite the annoyed command, the grins never left the faces of the four bratty teenagers interrupting his pleasant, summer afternoon nap, each of them squirming excitedly. Draco pretended to ignore them for a bit, yawning and running a hand through his messy hair, before resting his elbow on the lounge back and propping chin in hand, taking note of the setting sun with a glance out the window. "A friendly match between England and Spain? Wouldn't it have started already?"

"It starts in twenty minutes—we only just found out," Scorpius explained, draping himself over the back of the lounge and invading Draco's personal bubble—as per usual, the obnoxious child. He cocked his head and pouted. "Come on, Dad. _Please?_"

Four pouts now, though only Scorpius's and that Potter snot's were any good (_honestly_, Vincent Goyle looked more wincing than pleading—someone needed to train that kid better). Rolling his eyes, Draco finally stood, stretching his arms high above his head and hearing various joints pop. After a moment, he looked over his shoulder at the four. "Well, go on then. Get your summer robes on."

With shrieks of, "_Yes!_" and "All right!" and "You're the best, Mr. Malfoy!" the four quickly scrambled from the room, chattering away enthusiastically like Christmas had come early or something equally ridiculous. Draco scoffed at their departing backs but apparated directly to his bedroom as soon as their voices dimmed from the hallway, eagerly thinking, _An England-Spain scrimmage? Hell yes!_

-o-o-

The five of them came to a skidding halt in front of the ticket booth just as the salesman had begun to draw the cage closed—well, Scorpius and his three friends did anyway, as Draco casually strolled a short distance behind them, still feigning disinterest (one has an image to keep, after all). The balding, portly man paused for a moment as the four boys began talking at once (or rather began begging to be sold tickets) but then sneered in their excited faces, jerking the cage down the last foot to the counter.

"You're too late," he gruffed with a malicious smirk as Draco finally arrived behind the others. "Game's already startin'."

"It's not starting just yet!" the Potter brat insisted with a gesture at the quidditch stadium, the crowd's cheers almost covering the announcer's booming voice. "They're only introducing the players."

"You're too late, I said!" the man growled again and pointedly turned his back on the angry and disappointed shouts of the four teens.

Eyes narrowing in irritation, Draco withdrew his wand from his robe pocket with a flourish. He contemplated hexing the salesman's bits off—because really, who was so cruel in the face of young excitement?—but the Potter kid glanced toward him curiously right then and, well, he couldn't go harming quidditch officials with the Head Auror's son watching now could he? Sorted into Slytherin or not, the little Potter-clone was still of Gryffindor heritage and would surely tattle on him.

Another idea dawned on Draco and a slow smile crossed his face. A quick but complicated wand movement around his own body and a silent incantation later, Draco rapped gently on the cage to get the balding man's attention.

At the sound of the metal gate shaking from Draco's knock, the salesman whipped around and snarled, "Look, I told ya! I'm not sellin' ya no… no…" The man's tongue seemed to become heavy in his mouth as his eyes settled on Draco. It took only a quick minute and then a dopey smile crossed the man's face, his eyes dilated, a little bit of drool it looked like there at the side of his mouth, and then he was fumbling with the cage, trying to pull it up. "Tickets ya say? Anythin' for ya, beau'iful."

"That's what I thought, you pig," Draco mumbled under his breath, winking at the three smirking—and one frowning—boys beside him before leaning on the ticket counter and smiling sweetly. "Oh, but we don't want to be any trouble, of course."

"Nah, nah!" the man insisted, digging under his side of the counter to produce five tickets and handing them over in a manner as though he were handing Draco jewels. "No problem a'tall!"

The Potter kid reluctantly accepted his ticket from Draco, but said quietly with a glance at the dazed salesman, "I think there's a rule against using spells on quidditch officials to get free tickets."

"Well I didn't use it on him, now did I? I used it on myself and if he is affected by proxy that is not my problem," Draco answered with an irritated flick at the young teen's forehead. "If you are so against it, then you shouldn't take the ticket, yeah?"

To Draco's surprise, the Potter snot grinned. "I didn't say I was against it. I think it's brilliant actually. You're the best, Mr. Malfoy!"

"Stop kissing up," Draco said flatly and gave the boy a shove toward the entry gate where the other three had already bounded off to, but smirked as the kid ran to join the others with a laugh. So the brat liked Draco… Ha! Take that Potter senior!

"Sir?"

A heavy hand came down on Draco's arm, making him jump, and he quickly shook it off and turned to see the ticket man practically climbing over the counter to get to him, an erection already straining trouser fronts under the round belly. With a sigh and a roll of the eyes as he remembered this particular effect of the _likeaveelus_ _allurus_ spell, Draco pushed his hands against the man's shoulder to ease him back into the ticket stand.

"Now, now," Draco said blandly. "Let's not get carried away."

"You're so beau'iful," the man blathered, ugly tongue licking saliva from dry, cracked lips.

"Yes, of course I am," Draco scoffed, wincing at the sight before him, "but I have to get to the game right now, understand?"

The man whimpered pathetically.

"Look, why don't you owl me and we can work out the details of our, ah, love affair then?" Draco offered with a bored shrug.

The man fervently nodded. "Yes! Yes! I'll owl you! And then we can…?"

Draco very nearly punched the man at the obscene thrusting motion made but carefully controlled himself and smiled thinly instead. "As much as you want, sure."

Scrabbling for a quill and parchment, the man demanded, "Your name? Address?"

Like hell Draco would give this idiot his real name. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something like "Fabio Monkeywithers" but then the Potter brat's disapproving face flashed through his mind. With a wicked thought, he smiled flirtatiously at entranced man before him. "My name? Why, it's Harry Potter! Surely you've heard of me?"

"Harry Potter!" the man squeaked excitedly but then looked confused. "You don't look like Harry Potter."

"It's a disguise, you see. Can't have my rabid fans following me about all the time," Draco explained.

The man made an O with his mouth and nodded hastily. "'Course not!"

"I guess you'll be wanting my address then, yeah?" At another hurried nod, Draco smirked and recited the address he knew quite well, having traveled to it multiple times to drop off and pick up his son. "234 Brewberry Lane, Godric's Hollow." Then, thinking of how long the allure was supposed to last, "Be sure to write quick now. I want that letter by the time I get home. Let's say, have it there within the next thirty minutes?"

"Yes, 'course!" the man squealed, wiggling back and forth in place.

"I want to hear how gorgeous my green eyes are. In fact, call them '_emerald green_' if you don't mind. Also, my, um, '_enticingly_ _bronze_' skin," Draco added and leaned against the counter as he thought, the ticket man nodding all the while and scribbling notes onto his parchment. "And my hair—I want to hear about its wild, just-ravished look, yeah? Ohh, hey," Draco planted both hands on the counter and leaned across it enthusiastically, unconsciously causing the allure to push stronger as he was more and more enjoying the idea of having the ugly oaf send Harry Potter a raunchy letter. "Give me a fantasy, okay? Write up a good, juicy one. Anything you've ever had—the more sordid the better. Like a spanking one, or something with chains. Can you do that?"

"I—" the man choked out, face red with want and now embarrassment, "I've always wanted ta piss on someone…"

Draco drew back a little, disgusted, but managed to hide it with a weakly encouraging grin. "There you go. That sounds nice, but spice it up a bit, yeah? Maybe the, eh, _water sports_ can come at the end?"

The man nodded much more stiffly now, making a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat but looking deliriously happy as though he had died and gone to heaven.

"Oh, and make sure you describe every sense—sight, touch, sound, smell, and especially," Draco pinned the man with a smoldering look and licked his lips, "_taste_. I want _every_ dirty detail."

The man suddenly reached across the counter, grabbing at Draco. "I'll have you on your knees—"

Draco jerked quickly away, scowling at first but then forcing himself to smile through clenched teeth. "Yes. Write it down first. We'll do whatever you want as long as you send a good enough letter."

"I'll write it right now!" the man said, head already down as he scratched away on another parchment.

From the stadium sounded the boom of a canon and the announcer's voice called out, "And they're off! Chins to Haney-Bowers-Chins again-Duncan-Oh! Nice bludger from Perez! Spain has the quaffle—that's Victoria—"

_Damn, I'm missing it!_ Draco thought and began hurrying toward the stadium, shouting over his shoulder, "I'll expect that letter!" without listening for a response.

There was a minor mishap on the stairs where a woman threw herself at him, already half-out of her robes and fully intending to divest him of his own, before he remembered to _finite_ the spell.

-o-o-

_Thirty Minutes Later, Godric's Hollow_

"Was Al planning to stay the night at Malfoy's?" Ginny asked, leaning back in her chair so that it tipped on its back legs, the WWN on the table chattering away about the England-Spain scrimmage match.

Harry glanced at the kitchen clock as he finished drying the last dish from dinner. "I didn't think so, but you know how those boys are. They always beg for more time and it's not like Malfoy has to work tomorrow. All he does is lounge around prettily in that giant manor of his."

Ginny sighed and tipped forward again so that she could rest her chin on the table. "That Malfoy… I think Al likes him a lot, though. Isn't that just unnerving?"

"No more so than an honest kid like Al being in Slytherin," Harry chuckled, setting the dish in the cabinet. "I always wonder about that, you know? He seemed so worried at Platform 9 ¾ but sounded so excited when he wrote home to say he'd been sorted Slytherin…"

"It's those friends of his," Ginny said with another sigh. "He said he met them on the train and wanted to be in the same—"

A light tapping interrupted Ginny and they both turned to see an owl waiting on the sill outside the window.

"Who could that be from?" Harry wondered as he walked over and opened the window.

"Probably just Al, to say that he's staying the night with Scorpius," Ginny offered disinterestedly.

"But this isn't one of the Malfoy owls," Harry said, taking the scroll from the owl and unrolling it to read the splotchy writing inside, absently offering the bird a treat from the nearby tin. There was a strange sticky whiteness on the parchment that he had to carefully avoid.

Ginny shrugged. "Maybe it's a new owl? It has to be from someone we know or it wouldn't have had the correct address to get through—Harry?" At her husband's rapidly paling, increasingly horrified expression, Ginny jerked out of her chair so fast that it clattered against the floor. "What is it? What's the matter? Al? Is it something with Al?"

Harry flung the offending parchment from his hands and wandlessly _incendioed_ it before Ginny could snatch it off the floor.

"Harry!" Ginny shrieked, yanking her hands back and glaring at her husband as he angrily shooed the unknown—and, apparently, _unwanted_—owl away from the window. "For Merlin's sake, _what's the matter?_"

Holding his hands away from him as though they were rotting and vile, Harry gave her a pitiful look. "I—I—I feel _violated!_"


End file.
